\. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


of  tfip 


IDYLS    OF    THE    YEAR. 


'  Gather  a  shell  from  the  strown  beach, 
And  listen  at  its  lips :   they  sigh 
The  same  desire  and  mystery, 
The  echo  of  the  whole  sea's  speech" 


Idyls 

of 


The    Year. 


JAMES    PHINNEY   BAXTER. 

/  ;- 

AMI-  (v\. 


PORTLAND: 

HOYT,  FOGG,  AND  DONHAM. 

1884. 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  JAMES  PHINNEY  BAXTER. 


Bmbtrsila  (Jrnw: 

JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

FLOOD ii 

MARCH 15 

THE  FLIGHT  NORTH 17 

APRIL 21 

SPRING 23 

MAY 25 

CRESCENDO 27 

JUNE 29 

DOLCE  FAR  NIENTE 31 

JULY 35 

SUMMER 37 

AUGUST 39 

THE  HERD-BELLS 41 

SEPTEMBER 45 

AUTUMN 47 

OCTOBER 49 

MISERERE 51 

NOVEMBER 53 

DECRESCENDO 55 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

Page 

DECEMBER      .            5q 

WINTER ^ 

JANUARY    ^ 

THE  ALCHEMIST 65 

FEBRUARY ^ 

EBB 71 


IDYLS    OF    THE    YEAR. 


IDYLS    OF   THE   YEAR. 


FLOOD. 

OUT  from  the  east,  O  sea  ! 
Dawn's  kisses  still  aglow 
Upon  thy  breasts  of  snow, 
Thou  flowest  unto  me. 

The  echo  of  a  song, 
Whose  meaning  hearts  translate 
To  suit  each  fleeting  state, 
Thy  billows  bear  along. 

To  one  a  dirge  it  seems, 
Leaving  a  trace  of  pain ; 
To  one  a  sweet  refrain, 
Bringing  elysian  dreams. 

ii 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

But  unto  me,  O  sea  ! 
Thy  song  majestic  swells 
With  triumph  which  foretells 
Things  glorious  to  be. 

For  all  my  buoyant  hopes 
Are  ships,  with  every  thread 
Of  snowy  canvas  spread,  — 
Slant  masts,  and  straining  ropes. 

They  come,  —  a  gallant  fleet, 
Bound  home  from  Orient  ports, 
Laden  with  richest  sorts 
Of  merchandise,  I  weet. 

No  spoil  of  land  nor  sea, 
Nor  handiwork  of  art 
Treasured  in  costliest  mart, 
But  hither  comes  to  me, 

Borne  upon  ideal  ships 
With  sails  more  light  than  air, 
And  pennons  passing  fair, 
Unkissed  by  zephyr's  lips. 
12 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

Richer  than  sceptred  king, 
All  things  are  made  for  me, 
On  land,  in  air  and  sea  !  — 
I  can  but  sing. 

13 


MARCH. 

A  HUNTSMAN,  keen  of  sense  and  brain, 
Reins  his  rough  steed  upon  the  plain, 
And  scans  the  sunless  wastes  again. 
The  bitter  blasts  beat  all  in  vain ; 
He  heeds  them  not,  but  eye  and  ear 
Strains  as  to  catch  in  earth  or  sky 
A  glimpse  of  something  drawing  nigh, 
Or  haply  some  familiar  cry, 
Amid  the  chaos  drear. 

No  joy  is  under  heaven,  for  bare 
Is  earth  of  beauty  everywhere  ; 
A  thousand  pools  in  fields  once  fair 
Freeze  in  the  sun,  and  earth  and  air 
The  wail  of  wandering  streams  repeat. 
No  harbinger  of  Spring  is  near, 
Save  when  the  sea-birds'  voices  drear 
Float  earthward,  as  they  ever  steer 
Northward  on  pinions  fleet. 

'5 


THE  FLIGHT   NORTH. 

WHEN  the  huntsman  March,  off  flinging 
With  free  hand  the  storm-wind's  jesses, 
Frowns  the  whipster  Spring  off,  bringing 
Summer's  breath  upon  his  tresses, 
Swayed  as  by  some  strange  delusion, 
Rise  the  flocks  in  mad  confusion,  — 

Rise  from  bayous  and  savannas, 
Fens  and  marshes,  where  unbending 
Cypresses  their  dismal  banners 
Wave  through  mazes  never  ending, 
And  to  northlands  waste  and  dreary 
Sweep  on  wings  which  never  weary,  — 

Sweep  on  wings  of  fury,  driving 

On  through  measureless  expanses,  — 

'Gainst  the  shrieking  tempest  striving, 

2  I7 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

'Gainst  the  storm's  bewildering  lances ; 
All  the  welkin  with  their  thrilling, 
Melancholy  voices  filling,  — 

Sweep  on  wings  resistless,  keeping 
But  in  view  their  peerless  leaders ; 
Sweep  o'er  town  and  hamlet  sleeping, 
Leagues  of  moaning  pines  and  cedars  ; 
Sweep  through  starry  realms  and  regions 
Desolate,  in  ghostly  legions,  — 

Sweep  to  those  dim  shores  deserted, 
Ope  to  prying  eyesight  never, 
Where  with  purpose  undiverted 
The  shuddering  needle  points  forever, 
And  above  their  beaches  haunted 
Cynosura  hangs  enchanted. 

Welcome,  plumed  hosts  !    A  greeting 
To  you  all,  O  boisterous  comers  \ 
All  your  windy  wings  are  beating 
Symphonies  which  tell  of  Summer's 
Swelling  streams  beneath  the  swinging 
Willows  ever  softly  singing. 
18 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

Aye,  ye  harbinger  sweet  Summer's 
Untold  blisses ;  and  a  greeting 
Waft  I  unto  you,  O  comers 
From  the  southlands,  ever  beating 
With  wide  wings  the  dim  expanses, 
Like  a  dreamer's  shadowy  fancies,  — 

Fancies  urged  with  aspiration 
For  some  fairer  good,  some  distant 
Eden  hid  from  observation, 
Whither  evermore  persistent 
Strive  they  winged  of  strong  endeavor, 
Strive  unsatisfied  forever. 

19 


APRIL. 

WITH  shambling  gait  and  vacant  smile 
Of  mingled  innocence  and  guile, 
A  loutish  ploughboy  climbs  the  stile, 
Whistling  a  dubious  tune  the  while, 
And  lingers  by  the  sluggish  pool, 
Where,  safe  behind  their  rushy  screen, 
The  nimble  frogs  in  jackets  green 
Dodge  the  stone  shied  with  awkward  mien, 
And  jeer  exultant,  "Fool !  " 

On  airy  hills  he  hears  the  bleat 
Of  fleecy  flocks ;  and,  softly  sweet, 
In  vales  where  shade  and  sunlight  meet, 
The  robins  each  new-comer  greet ; 
And,  as  one  hoodwinked,  here  and  there 
With  e'er  uncertain  feet  he  strays, 
By  sunny  homes  and  gloomy  ways, 
And  laughs  and  weeps  with  every  phase 
The  changeful  scene  may  wear. 

21 


SPRING. 

WHILE  from  the  pearly  ports  of  morn 
The  gales  with  odorous  secrets  crept, 
And,  whispering  of  southland  blisses, 
In  vernal  valleys  wept, 
Pampered  with  Beauty's  kisses,  — 
A  bright-eyed  wayward  thing, 
Wanting  but  elfish  wing 
To  leave  the  world  forlorn, — 
Lo,  Life  passed  as  an  infant  Eden-born, 
Tripping  it  laughingly  through  budding  bowers, 
And  from  a  golden  horn 

Scattering  on  Pleasure's  pathway  fairest  flowers, 
Carolling  fleetly, 
Blithesomely,  sweetly : 
"  Time  is  to  Pleasure 
A  charmed  cup  of  joy  ; 
Duty  would  measure 
But  to  destroy." 

23 


MAY. 

FROM  a  green  osier  in  the  sun 
Tossing  bright  bubbles  one  by  one, 
She  sees  with  glee  her  gay  worlds,  spun 
From  vapory  light,  their  cycles  run. 
Her  flute-like  laughter  all  the  day 
With  witchery  fills  the  balmy  air, 
Which  toying  with  her  sunny  hair 
Weaves  many  a  flossy  toil  and  snare 
For  loiterers  by  the  way. 

In  meadows  veiled  with  misty  light 
She  hears  the  herd-bells  with  delight, 
And  the  mad  mirth  of  brooks  which  smite 
The  lagging  wheels  to  swifter  flight ; 
While  the  lark,  lost  to  earthly  gaze, 
With  music  fills  the  heavenly  leas, 
Luring  her  thoughts  to  haunts  of  ease, 
Where  isles  of  pearl  on  azure  seas 
Float  in  a  dreamy  maze. 

25 


CRESCENDO. 

FROM  sunlit  wastes  of  tropic  seas, 
With  misty  sails  which  catch  the  breeze 
In  sheeny  splendor,  comes  the  Spring, 
Rapt  in  prophetic  dreams 
Of  coming  marvels,  whose  foregleams 
Invade  her  magic  ring. 

Through  Nature's  silent  sorrow  breaks 

An  inspiration  that  awakes 

The  broods  of  joy,  which  all  the  day 

Trill  of  the  bliss  to  be  ; 

While  Winter's  mystery  silently 

Trails  its  white  robes  away. 

Then,  through  the  fringes  of  the  rain, 

Sun-smitten  into  life  again 

Loom  the  lost  hills ;  and  all  the  streams, 

With  gossip  brimming  o'er, 

Arouse  the  drowsy  woods  once  more 

From  their  enchanted  dreams. 

27 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

And  ever  drift  the  clouds  from  view, 
And  gather  skies  a  deeper  blue ; 
And  breathing  still  of  fairer  days 
The  breezes  softly  blow, 
Setting  the  torching  buds  aglow 
Along  the  leafy  ways. 

Ah,  happy  days,  wherein  all  things — 
The  tree  that  buds,  and  rill  that  sings  — 
Are  voiced  with  prophecies  so  sweet 
That  thought  is  fain  to  run 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  sense  and  sun 
The  coming  bliss  to  greet ! 
28 


JUNE. 

WHERE  drowsy  willows  nod  and  sigh, 
An  angler  by  a  brook  doth  lie ; 
Upon  his  hook  a  painted  fly, 
A  dream's  soft  shadow  in  his  eye  : 
Thus  like  a  charmed  prince  he  seems 
Destined  a  glorious  prize  to  win, 
Which,  like  a  jewelled  javelin, 
Poised  as  in  air  on  quivering  fin, 
Before  his  vision  gleams. 

With  purest  blue  the  blissful  sky 
Pavilions  him  right  royally. 
Sometimes  an  oriole  flames  on  high, 
Or  bee  impetuous  sparkles  by, 
Or  bobolink  ecstatic  flings 
Bubbles  of  music  on  the  air : 
And  so  he  gathers  everywhere 
All  sparkling  joys  together  there, 
Like  pearls  on  silken  strings. 

29 


DOLCE  FAR  NIENTE. 

THE  day  o'erbrims  with  splendor  like  a  rose  ; 
No  hint  of  storm  is  in  the  far-off  sky ; 
I  watch  the  blue  sea  as  it  comes  and  goes 
Beneath  my  eye. 

Toward  the  mirroring  waters  slowly  dips 

The  broad-winged  gull,  and,  rising,  seaward  glides ; 

Toward  the  city  toil  the  laboring  ships 

On  favoring  tides. 

There  comes  to  me  the  tumult  of  the  keys, 
The  murmur  of  the  marts,  and  scents  which  bear 
Me  into  zones  where  every  passing  breeze 
Is  a  sweet  snare,  — 

A  lure  to  languor.     Ah,  but  what  of  this  ! 
I  must  the  sweet  spell  shatter,  and  away ; 
And  midst  the  mart's  moil,  where  gray  Duty  is, 
Wear  out  the  day : 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

For  Duty  saith,  "  Life  is  too  real  a  thing 

To  waste   in  worthless  ways.     For  bread  men 

moan, 
For  soul  and  body,  bread.     Twere  shame  to 

bring 
Them  but  a  stone." 

I  glance  down  shamefaced-wise.      "'Tis  true," 

I  sigh; 

Then  goldenly  the  sun  gilds  dome  and  spire, 
And  then  an  oriole  goes  sparkling  by,  — 
A  winged  fire,  — 

And  a  fair  city  of  a  long  dead  day 

Beameth  before  me,  and  the  gleam  of  gear,  — 

Broad  shield,  and  billowy  plume,  and  bannerel 

gay, 

And  lissome  spear, 

Leashed  hound  and  hooded  hawk,  and  rare-robed 

dames, 

And  knights  who  curb  tall  steeds  ;  and  to  my  ear 
"Sir    Launcelot !    Sir    Galahad!"  —  glorious 

names  — 
The  soft  winds  bear. 

32 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

And  the  sound  stirs  my  soul  as  doth  the  air 
A  slumbering  lyre  ;  and,  come  whatever  may, 
Am  I  lost  to  the  world  and  all  its  care 
For  one  brief  day ; 

And  gathering  glory  in  the  tourney  field 
Will  I  forget  my  time,  and  be  as  one 
Who  weareth  mail,  and  beareth  lance  and  shield 
Till  set  of  sun, 

And  winneth  glance  of  damosels  whose  lips, 
As  they  would  fain  be  kissed,  smile  down  on  him  : 
For  thoughts  skim  silent  centuries,  as  swift  ships 
The  oceans  skim. 

So  will  I  have  one  joyous  holiday, 
Despite  of  men  and  marts  and  merchandise,  — 
A  little  tide  in  pleasant  fields  to  stray, 
'Neath  cloudless  skies. 

3  33 


JULY. 

SHE  comes  from  sunlands  all  aglow, 
A  gipsy  queen  with  torrid  brow 
And  swarthy  locks,  which  to  and  fro, 
Like  roving  clouds,  the  hot  winds  blow. 
Along  the  dusty  lane  she  strays, 
Where  sunflowers  flaunt  their  garish  charms, 
And  locusts  pipe  their  shrill  alarms, 
While  wandering  passions  e'er  in  arms 
Meet  in  her  ardent  gaze. 

Beneath  the  splendor  of  her  eye 
Their  fragrant  toil  the  scythemen  ply ; 
Yoked  in  the  shade  the  oxen  lie, 
And  burdened  bees  go  droning  by  : 
But  memories  swift  each  other  chase 
With  passionate  tumult  through"  her  brain, 
And,  fusing  into  one  fierce  pain, 
Burst  forth  in  tears  like  wasting  rain 
To  mar  her  kvish  grace. 

35 


SUMMER. 

ruddy  sun  was  on  his  azure  throne ; 
1    The  gales  had  wandered  to  a  bourn  unknown, 
Leaving  no  sound  except  the  tedious  drone 
Of  bees  to  fill  the  ear. 
There  was  no  thing  so  clear 
But  that  it  grew  indefinite  and  far ; 
The  woody  hills,  —  to  eager  vision,  bar,  — 
Seemed  into  golden  haze  to  melt  away, 
And  the  plains  sleeping  near 
Seemed  even  doomed  as  they,  — 
Conjuring  fantasies  of  yellow  sands 
And  shrunken  runlets,  where  the  desert-bands 
Sink  down,  and  for  relief  in  madness  pray. 
Then  Life  went  by  as  one  — 
A  youth  of  strong  desire, 
Whose  spirit  would  aspire 
To  find  a  thing  unknown  — 
Seeking  forever,  through  the  world  so  wide, 

37 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

Ever  unsatisfied, 
Murmuring  slowly, 
With  voice  melancholy : 
"  Pleasure,  ah,  linger ; 
Heed  not,  I  pray, 
Duty's  stem  finger 
Warning  away." 
38 


AUGUST. 

FROM  Afric's  shores  a  waif  unknown, 
On  the  hot  sea-beach  lying  prone  — 
Snared  in  a  dream  —  he  seems  as  one 
By  scorching  whirlwinds  hither  blown. 
Over  him  glare  bewildering  skies, 
Seethed  in  the  fogs  of  hidden  bays, 
Whence,  ever  in  mysterious  ways, 
Great  ships  from  lurid  shrouds  of  haze 
Like  ghosts  a-sudden  rise. 

Within  his  dream's  warm  zone,  again 
The  wonders  of  Sahara  reign, 
Where  blazing  sun  and  fiery  plain 
Devour  the  patient  camel-train, 
And  simooms  wave  their  glowing  wings 
Along  the  horizon's  shores  of  light, 
Like  red  flamingoes  taking  flight 
To  some  oasis  of  delight 
Watered  by  lucent  springs. 

39 


THE  HERD-BELLS. 

WHEN  faint  and  far  the  evening  star 
Through  vapory  veils  is  softly  burning, 
From  pastures  sweet,  with  noiseless  feet 
The  tardy  cows  are  home  returning ; 
While  all  their  bells  melodious  swing  together, 
In  concord  with  the  blissful  summer  weather. 

Ah,  no  less  clear  doth  memory  hear 

Across  the  withered  years  their  tinkle, 

Where  youth's  bright  rose  no  longer  glows, 

And  fairest  things  bear  stain  and  wrinkle ; 

Still,  still  they  blend  their  sweetest  notes  together, 

Accordant  with  that  far-off  summer  weather. 

Oh,  blessed  eves,  when  through  the  leaves 
Sifted  the  moons  their  silver  treasures ; 
With  nought  to  jar,  from  earth  to  star, 
On  Nature's  perfect  rhythmic  measures  ! 


IDYLS  OF   THE    YEAR. 

How  softly  then  the  herd-bells  chimed  together  ! 
How    endless   seemed    the    cloudless    summer 
weather ! 

How  calm  and  gray  the  broad  fields  lay, 
And  orchard  lawns  with  shadows  haunted  ! 
Aye,  ear  could  tell  where  softly  fell 
A  purple  plum  through  glooms  enchanted  ; 
While  in  the  dusky  silence  throbbed  together 
The  tuneful  bells  in  that  still  summer  weather. 

And  near  and  far  a  winged  star 
Flickered  athwart  the  level  meadows  ; 
And  weirdly  beat  their  cymbals  sweet 
The  locusts  in  the  thickening  shadows ; 
While  in  the  farmyard  swung  in  tune  together 
The  sweet  bells  in  the  balmy  summer  weather. 

Ah,  yes,  how  clear  doth  memory  hear, 
Blown  o'er  the  chill  wan  years,  their  tinkle, 
When  age's  snows  hide  youth's  warm  rose, 
And  all  things  dear  bear  stain  and  wrinkle  !  — 
Ah,  yes,  with  silver  tongues  they  sing  together 
Of  all  the  bliss  of  that  far  summer  weather. 
42 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

And  to  our  ears  in  heavenly  spheres 
Shall  these  sweet  sounds  for  sweeter  perish  ? 
May  bells  ring  there  "mid  scenes  more  fair 
Than  these  which  we  so  fondly  cherish,  — 
Wherein  the  silvery  herd-bells  chimed  together, 
In  concert  with  the  blissful  summer  weather  ? 

43 


SEPTEMBER. 

SHE  sits  beneath  her  vine-wreathed  eaves 
Shrined  like  a  saint,  and  ever  weaves 
A  fantasy  of  glowing  leaves 
And  flowers  and  fruits  and  gleaming  sheaves ; 
And  looking  out  from  calmest  eyes 
With  a  Madonna's  pensive  air, 
Matronly-wise  through  coming  care, 
She  seems  a  peaceful  charm  to  bear 
From  teeming  Paradise. 

With  mystery  of  change  opprest, 
She  scans  at  times  the  dreamy  west, 
Where  golden  floods  the  reapers  breast, 
And  bobolinks  with  sombre  crest 
And  altered  note  their  clans  array ; 
Blending  her  soft  sighs  with  the  coo 
Of  sorrowing  doves,  to  find  no  clew 
To  secrets  which  like  sparkling  dew 
Hide  from  the  fairest  day. 

45 


AUTUMN. 

THE  day  was  passing  like  a  hunter  hale 
A-west,  with  night  upon  its  trail ; 
The  bay  was  teeming  with  unnumbered  sails 
Swelling  with  homeward  gales ; 
And  from  the  shores  which  inland  lifted, 
The  sounds  of  rustling  grain 
And  odors  of  a  bounteous  fruitage  drifted 
Out  on  the  darkening  main. 
Then  Life  appeared  in  affluence,  proudly  sweeping 
Through  kingly  thoroughfares,  — 
Within  his  heart's  closed  coffers  fondly  keeping 
A  worshipped  wealth, — the  sum  of  gilded  cares,  — 
Mournfully  sighing, 
Yet  conscience  denying : 
"  Duty  would  surely 
Scourge  to  the  right, 
Could  we  securely 
Heed  not  its  might." 

47 


OCTOBER. 

WITH  blanket  gay  and  painted  face, 
Where  glowers  the  pride  of  all  his  race, 
Barbaric  in  his  gauds  and  lace, 
But  with  an  air  of  sombre  grace, 
He  haunts  the  flaming  hills,  to  meet 
The  morning,  —  from  his  wigwam  bright 
Of  wind-blown  clouds  come  forth  to  smite 
The  lurking  shadows  of  the  night 
With  arrows  keen  and  fleet. 

Sometimes  from  clouds  of  brightest  dye 

A  spire's  gold  cross  transforms  the  sky ; 

A  silent  eagle  swings  on  high, 

Or  forth  a  red  fox  ventures  shy ; 

While  from  the  lake's  soft  mist  and  gloom, 

Like  a  mysterious  voice  to  warn, 

The  loon's  sad  laughter  thrills  the  morn, 

Leaving  within  his  heart  forlorn 

The  chill  of  coming  doom. 

4  49 


MISERERE. 

THE  cheerless  sun  hangs  low ;  the  harsh  north 
wind 

Blows  with  a  bitter  breath  from  off  the  sea ; 
Brown  are  the    southern    slopes,  where  lately 

dinned 
The  gauzy  locust  and  the  golden  bee. 

The  idle  fishers  as  they  seaward  gaze 

Dream   of    the    silvery  spoil    their    nets    have 

won, 

And  fondly  revel  in  the  vanished  days,  — 
Fairer  than  when  their  glowing  course  was  run. 

Their  mazy  nets  drift  useless  on  the  gale  ; 
Their  boats  along  the  barren  shore  are  strown ; 
And  but  the  billows'  never-ending  wail 
Beats  on  the  ear  in  dreary  monotone. 

51 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

Gone  are  the  ships  which  bore  in  Summer's 

prime 

The  wealth  of  prosperous  ports  :  a  single  sail 
Flits  on  the  sea's  dim  verge  a  little  time, 
Then  fades  and  is  forgot  like  some  fair  tale, 

And  all  is  vacancy,  —  save  when,  maybe, 
A  sea-bird  hurrying  through  the  falling  night, 
In  from  the  sterile  pastures  of  the  sea, 
Sweeps  silent  as  a  shadow  'thwart  the  sight. 

O  fruitless  earth  !  O  empty  sky  and  sea  ! 
O  wailing  waves  !  O  chill  and  bitter  blast ! 
Where  shall  the  doubting  soul  for  comfort  flee 
Till  all  this  dreariness  be  overpast  ? 
52 


NOVEMBER. 

CLASPING  his  gains,  whate'er  betides, 
With  shrill  laconic  speech  he  chides 
The  failing  light,  and  grimly  bides 
The  gloom  which  o'er  the  welkin  glides. 
No  joy  can  stir  his  sluggish  veins ; 
Yet,  as  to  catch  some  blissful  boon  — 
A  scent,  a  taste,  a  sight,  a  tune  — 
Of  long- lost  Summer,  one  sweet  rune, 
Each  torpid  sense  he  strains. 

But  the  wild  sea-fowl's  wistful  cry 
For  sunnier  shores  drifts  sadly  by ; 
Scentless  the  globes  of  clover  lie, 
And  fruitless  trees  against  the  sky 
Stand  stark  and  stiff;  while  everywhere 
Stalks  a  pale  mystery,  strangely  still, 
From  realms  of  air,  whose  presence  chill 
Sends  to  his  churlish  heart  a  thrill, 
And  stills  each  passion  there. 

53 


DECRESCENDO. 

THERE  is  no  splendor  on  the  shadowy  hills  ; 
Their  gauds  of  gold  the  woods  no  longer 

wear; 

A  dreamy  haze  the  empty  welkin  fills, 
And  reigns  a  strange  sad  silence  everywhere, 

Save  for  the  lonely  bittern's  wistful  cry, 
From  foodless  marshes  floating  drearily, 
Or  plover's  fitful  plaint  borne  shrilly  by, 
Or  wail  of  waves  blown  from  the  far-off  sea. 

On  yon  bleak  slope,  by  slowly  freezing  springs, 
The  sluggish  geese,  by  sudden  instinct  fired, 
Wave  wide  with    clamorous   cries   their  windy 

wings, 
As  if  to  sunnier  realms  they  fain  aspired. 

55 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

And  in  the  pasture,  comfortless  and  bare, 
Where  shelter  scant  the  shuddering  birches  yield, 
Pathetic  in  their  patience,  dumbly  stare 
The  huddling  sheep  across  the  snow-flecked  field. 

Where  erewhile  lisped  the  willow  all  the  day 
In  sweetest  mystery  to  the  impassioned  stream, 
A  shivering  skeleton  stands  stark  and  gray, 
The  phantom  of  a  once  delicious  dream. 

And  listless  drops  the  ash  its  beads  of  red 
From  shrivelled  fingers  slowly,  one  by  one  ; 
As  if  the  final  orison  were  said 
For  all  the  beauty  which  from  earth  has  gone. 

Whither,  ah,  whither  hath  the  Summer  flown 
With  all  its  wondrous  witchery,  all  its  bliss, 
Its  roses'  breath,  its  fields  with  beauty  sown, 
Its  sweet-voiced  birds,  its  zephyr's  balmy  kiss, 

Its  whispering  woods,  its  softly  psalming  rills, 
Its  clouds  of  pearl,  its  heaven's  immeasured  blue, 
The  far-off  splendor  of  its  lucent  hills, 
Its  meadows  lush  with  morn's  enquickening  dew  ? 

56 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

Whither,  ah,  whither  ?    There  is  no  reply : 

The  streams  are  tongueless,  and  the  woods  are 

dumb; 

An  unsolved  riddle  is  the  chill,  gray  sky, 
And  from  wan  hills  no  cheering  sign  may  come. 

Faith,  following  far,  alone  may  garner  hope 
From  sunless  fields,  unfruitful  and  forlorn  ; 
Alone  may  cast  a  certain  horoscope, 
And  bathe  in  sunshine  of  a  day  unborn ;  — 

May  look  beyond  the  dim,  uncertain  hills 
Where  Winter's  ghostly  garments  faintly  gleam, 
Discerning  clearly  through  impending  ills 
A  Summer  all  of  beauty  brightly  beam. 

57 


DECEMBER. 

SHE  cometh  like  a  pale  surprise 
From  the  still  cloisters  of  the  skies, 
A  mystic  faith  within  her  eyes ; 
And  at  lone  shrines  she  sadly  plies 
Her  chilly  beads  with  fingers  thin ; 
While,  like  the  dews  from  upper  calms, 
To  her  rapt  soul  come  voiceless  psalms, 
Transforming  with  resistless  charms 
The  sorrows  borne  within. 

The  heavens  bring  near  their  fields  of  gray, 
Where  walks  the  moon's  pale  wraith  by  day, 
While  crows  flit  patiently  away 
To  foodless  fields  in  mute  array,  — 
Chill  fields,  where  listless  willows  bide 
By  shrouded  ponds ;  for  all  things  wear 
A  waiting  look  in  earth  and  air,  — 
A  faith  in  something  yet  to  bear 
Redemption  far  and  wide. 

59 


WINTER. 

AND,  lo,  Life  once  again, 
As  one  from  dross  purged  by  affliction's 

flames 

Who  long  had  toiled  in  pain 
Upon  the  rugged  ways  experience  claims  ! 
Wisdom  was  emblemed  by  his  snowy  hair, 
Stirred  by  the  viewless  air 
And  glistening  in  the  moonbeams  as  the  sheet 
Shrouding  the  passing  year. 
A  tomb  was  at  his  feet, 
Yet  smilingly  he  looked  toward  the  skies, 
And  whispered  as  to  some  white-winged  surprise 
Flashing  through  vapor 
Of  sense  like  a  taper  : 
"  Duty  is  surely 
Love's  other  name ; 
Reading  them  purely, 
Both  are  the  same." 

61 


JANUARY. 

A  FAIR  child  by  a  glimmering  sea 
Scanning  the  mute  east  wistfully, 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  sails  blown  free 
From  wonder-ports,  —  such  sails,  maybe, 
As  flit  in  dreams  from  ports  of  air,  — 
A  child  of  elfish  mien  and  shy, 
Athwart  the  sheen  of  whose  clear  eye 
Oft  light-winged  visions  softly  fly, 
Leaving  a  glory  there. 

The  sea  is  dumb,  the  woods  are  still ; 
No  fragrance  steals  from  plain  nor  hill ; 
From  far-off  isles,  so  white  and  chill, 
Of  happy  change  no  voices  trill ; 
To  him  the  universe  is  given, 
An  ivory  casket  locked  and  sealed, 
Which  to  no  key  of  sense  may  yield, 
But  wherein  pearls,  like  hopes  congealed, 
Garner  the  tints  of  heaven. 

63 


THE    ALCHEMIST. 


wrack  drifts  up  the  midnight  sky, 
1     And  veils  the  filmy  stars  from  sight  ; 
The  winds  through  budless  branches  sigh, 
Where  whippoorwills  beguiled  the  night. 
A  cheerless  end  thou  hast,  Old  Year,  — 
O  swiftly  passing  Year  ! 

Bent  as  a  crosier  is  his  form, 
His  wind-blown  locks  are  thin  and  white  ; 
O'er  embers  erewhile  red  and  warm 
A  crucible  he  clutches  tight. 

Our  wealth  we  cast  therein,  Old  Year,  — 

Our  golden  hopes,  Old  Year  ! 

Unto  his  crucible  we  brought 

An  argosy  of  cherished  pelf; 

Such  things  as  strong  Ambition  wrought, 

The  gauds  of  pride,  the  love  of  self. 
We  gave  thee  all  our  wealth,  Old  Year,  - 
Our  dearest  wealth,  Old  Year  ! 
5  65 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

From  these  we  fondly  hoped  to  gain, 
Transmuted  by  his  cunning  arts, 
A  jewel  men  have  sought  in  vain 
By  land  and  sea  in  royal  marts. 

Our  treasures  turned  to  dross,  Old  Year,  - 

To  worthless  dross,  Old  Year  ! 

He  gave  us  visions  of  lands  and  gold, 
Visions  of  triumph  and  of  power, 
A  thousand  pictures  of  joys  untold 
To  brighten  life's  too  fleeting  hour. 

They  were  but  phantoms,  alas,  Old  Year, 

But  idle  dreams,  Old  Year  ! 

Good  sooth,  a  winsome  wight  was  he, 
His  face  was  fair  to  look  upon ; 
His  eye  was  bright,  his  glance  was  free, 
From  all  the  world  good-will  he  won. 

A  noble  friend  thou  wert,  Old  Year,  — 

A  flattering  friend,  Old  Year  ! 

But  now  he  sits  forlorn  and  pale, 
Like  one  whom  many  dreams  enthrall, 
Nor  heeds  the  sighing  of  the  gale 
66 


IDYLS  OF  THE    YEAR. 

Nor  shadows'  ever  thickening  fall. 
Thy  labor 's  done  at  last,  Old  Year,  — 
Thy  weighty  task,  Old  Year  ! 

Over  his  crucible  bends  he  still, 
Above  the  faded  brands  he  bends ; 
But,  lo  !  across  the  silent  hill 
With  glowing  cheek  one  hither  wends. 

All  hail !  All  hail !  O  blithe  New  Year  ! 

O  happy,  fair  New  Year ! 

All  hail !  All  hail !     There  shaU  be  brought 
To  thy  alembic  offerings  new : 
Such  things  as  duty  well  has  wrought,  — 
Meekness  and  love,  those  jewels  true. 
To  thee  shall  all  be  brought,  New  Year,  - 
Our  soul's  best  wealth,  New  Year  ! 

Then  welcome,  flattering  Year  !  In  dreams 
We  kiss  thy  garments'  broidered  hem ; 
For  in  thy  bright  alembic  beams 
Even  Happiness,  that  long-sought  gem, 
The  meed  of  Duty,  bright  New  Year, 
Which  all  may  win,  New  Year  ! 

67 


FEBRUARY. 

WITH  dainty  step  she  softly  goes 
Her  beaming  lattice  to  unclose, 
And  sighs  towards  the  south  which  glows 
With  faintest  amethyst  and  rose ; 
There  lies  the  ideal  land  of  calm, 
Whither  her  longing  thoughts  take  wing, 
But  only  to  return  and  bring 
Sweet  promises,  like  birds  of  Spring, 
From  meadows  breathing  balm. 

She  hears  awakening  Nature  greet 

The  morn,  which  comes  with  welcome  feet 

O'er  snow-wreathed  hills,  while  voices  sweet 

Of  wind-blown  bells  their  joy  repeat ; 

And,  touched  with  hope, "  Ah,  soon,"  she  cries, 

"  The  quickening  voices  of  the  rills 

Shall  rouse  to  life  the  cheerless  hills, 

And  bloomless  fields,  and  slumbering  mills, 

With  songs  of  Paradise." 

69 


EBB. 

I  STAND  at  sunset  watching 
The  ebbing  of  the  sea, 
Hooded  in  sorrow,  telling 
The  beads  of  memory. 

White  wings  in  the  distance  flutter 
And  disappear  from  sight ; 
A  wreck's  lank  ribs,  like  spectres, 
On  the  beach  stand  stark  and  white. 

They  move  !     Nay,  't  is  the  seaweed 
Just  stirred  by  the  evening  wind, 
With  which  each  slimy  timber 
Is  loathsomely  entwined. 

Ah,  where  are  the  shapes  of  beauty 
That  once  entranced  my  soul, 
That  sped  with  favoring  breezes 
Toward  their  promised  goal  ? 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

I  strain  my  vision  seaward  — 
I  see  but  a  misty  plain ; 
And  into  the  heavens  above  me 
I  peer,  but  all  in  vain. 

I  stretch  my  arms  in  silence  — 
I  clasp  but  senseless  air ; 
I  shout  and  get  no  answer, 
Though  I  die  in  my  despair. 

I  list  the  soft  sweet  rustle 

Of  their  silken  sails  to  hear ; 

They  are  somewhere,  surely  somewhere, 

In  this  universal  sphere. 

But  never  a  sound  comes  to  me, 
But  the  moan  of  the  sea  on  the  shore  ; 
I  have  learned  its  utterance  plainly, 
"  No  more  —  no  more  —  no  more." 

Ah,  where  are  the  shapes  of  beauty 
Which  once  entranced  my  soul, 
Which  sped  with  favoring  breezes 
Toward  their  promised  goal  ? 
72 


IDYLS  OF  THE   YEAR. 

Shattered  on  reefs  of  coral, — 
Ah,  treacherous  reefs,  so  fair  !  — 
Scattered  on  lonely  beaches, 
And  ledges  sharp  and  bare ; 

Foundered  in  wastes  unsounded, 
Burnt  on  some  unknown  sea,  — 
They  are  gone  with  all  their  treasures, 
Forever  lost  to  me. 

73 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


UC  SOUTHER    REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001372364 


PS 

1079 

B33i 


